Ever since I can remember, on the first day of school I was always asked this question: were named after the song “Layla” by Eric Clapton? I remember responding “Who’s that?” in first grade and “Why does everyone ask me that?” every year after. No, I was not named after the classic rock hit from the 1970s, but because I was constantly asked this question as a kid, I always resented the song. Whenever the song came on the radio, I would frantically change the station in search for something that did not make my blood boil. It was not until my freshman year, though, that it hit me—one of the greatest guitarists of all time wrote a song about my name, as unique as it is. Normally, I would not have realized this on my own, but thanks to a teacher, I finally realized that I should take pride in my classic rock hit of a name.

The first day of band camp my freshman year was the most memorable day of band I have ever experienced. Clarinet in hand, I stood between two giant upper classmen as I waited for Mr. Kelly to bark my name for attendance. Instead of a bark, I heard singing. A one man show, Mr. Kelly sang the chorus, hummed the guitar part, and clapped to the rhythm of the drum solo. Rather than hiding my face from the whole band, I stepped out of line with my squad and raised my chin with dignity. That moment made me realize that I have an awesome name. When I tell people my name, they start to hum the opening guitar riff and brake out in air guitar. Now that’s what I call an introduction.